


With Senses Restrained

by LunarExo



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Teasing, today i learned what "that table in the hallway you put picture frames on" is called
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-08-08 19:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16435712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarExo/pseuds/LunarExo
Summary: Therion tests his knot work. Cyrus finds a new side of himself.





	1. Chapter 1

“That’s not too tight now, is it?” Therion adjusted the fabric of his scarf over Cyrus’ eyes, smoothing down the thick folds so they weren’t so clearly digging into the underside of his eye. 

Once it was settled, he could see the muscles in Cyrus’ face scrunch up as he blinked, making sure it wouldn’t move around. “I can’t see a thing,” he pointed out, looking around the room, “not even the shadows of objects. You may as well scoop me up and put me in the centre of town—I’d be none the wiser.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got no plans to do that then.” He tied Cyrus ankles last—knowing it meant taking his pants off, knowing bare legs would get sore first, forced flush to unforgiving wood. Cyrus hummed, toes curling, and found that Therion’s work had once again been meticulous. 

“How does it feel now?” 

“It feels fine,” Cyrus started, his head turned in the approximate direction of Therion’s head, “although I can’t help but wonder why a _thief_ of all people would enjoy seeing someone he cares about so thoroughly restrained. Perhaps there is a deeper reason why, after all these year—” 

The strip of fabric fit perfectly in Cyrus’ mouth when he opened it to speak, Therion grinning to himself as he secured it in place. “ _Perhaps_ I just like you at my mercy. And _quiet_ , for once. Now, show me how to get out.”

Cyrus’ face was furrowed into a scowl, as if to say, ‘how rude,’ but he still gripped the loose strand of fabric holding his wrist to the chair’s arm, making a tugging gesture. Therion’s smile grew soft, lingering. “Fast learner.”

He exhaled, suddenly acutely aware that he was entirely responsible for any bantering with Cyrus incapacitated as he was. The quiet was almost, _almost_ too much for him to bear, but then Cyrus squirmed and groaned, craning towards Therion in a noble quest for touch, and Therion decided the pros _far_ outweighed the cons. 

“At least I won’t have to listen to you praise me to the high heavens like this, you sacrilegious sap,” Cyrus began to laugh—the sound muffled as it was—his shoulder’s shaking with silent mirth that only halted when Therion stroked down his neck, his amused sounds replaced with a shuddering sigh. 

Therion undid the buttons on Cyrus’ shirt with ease, although even he would admit the speed with which he did it was a damning sign of his own growing excitement. He wasn’t one to rain down praise—nothing like his lover in that regard—but even he had to admit there was something beautiful about seeing Cyrus try to chase him using sound and touch alone, neck craning towards the quiet sounds of his breaths, his eyebrows furrowed in obvious concentration. More than that, they’d done nothing but tie him up and Cyrus was already half hard, the bulge obvious with his lack of pants.

Not that Therion would dare mock him for it, his own cock not exactly flaccid at the sight of his lover bound and vulnerable. 

A hand resting flat against Cyrus’ bare chest, Therion circled the chair, pressing his lips to the shell of his left ear. “This is a good look for you,” his heart jumped when Cyrus did, completely exhilarated, and when Cyrus didn’t crane his neck to the sound Therion chuckled low in his ear, trailing kisses down to his neck. “Tied up, completely at the mercy of a wanted thief. Most people would probably call you a fool.”

Cyrus hummed an affirmation, exposing his neck all the same. 

Therion determined then, without hesitation, that he enjoyed the growing desperation, something like electricity buzzing between them. And Cyrus smelled like books, which was its own kind of absurd, but underneath it he smelled rich with humanity and the sharp, almost metallic scent of magic. Therion breathed it in, allowing himself this indulgence when Cyrus could neither see or comment on it, before biting down firm on his neck. 

He wasn’t a possessive man, but Therion couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him at the thought of his dear professor trying to teach a class while mottled with love marks, groaning against his skin. 

When he pulled back, Therion admired how wound up Cyrus was, his hands clenched into tight fists where they laid flat to the arms of the chair, the muscles in his neck straining—only highlighting the perfect circle of indentations Therion had left him. He pressed his lips there once, touch just on the cusp of reverent. Then again, sucking lightly on his skin, tasting that same hint of magic coursing through his veins. 

Shifting Cyrus’ head to the side, Therion set about pressing his lips to each centimetre of exposed skin, one arm draped over his lover’s shoulder as he did. Cyrus relaxed in his arms, the tension bleeding out of him, only to moan out loud when Therion bit him again—harder—laughing devilishly from the crook of his neck. It just made it all the more erotic, seeing Cyrus’ brow twitch with agitation, even as twin bites lined his neck, accented with blooming bruises from his meticulous mouth work.

Circling the chair once more, Therion perched himself on one solid thigh, settling easily against Cyrus chest to kiss his jaw in a faux-apology. “Can you blame me? You looked bitable.” Tender, Therion stroked his hand across Cyrus cheek, chuckling when he nuzzled into it, annoyance presumably forgotten. The other slid down to his groin, dancing his fingers across the obvious bulge. “Probably want me to touch you here though, don’t you?”

His approving moan only confirmed the obvious, Cyrus’ cock hard in his hand—a spot of wetness on the cotton of his underwear. Therion licked his lips, pushing the fabric of his shorts down just enough for his cock to jump free, swollen and flushed and shiny with pre. “This here—This is the prettiest part of you. You should walk around naked. Nobody would stop you. They’d all be too busy drooling.” 

Therion admired the weight in his hand, tracing his fingers along the underside before taking a firm grip to stroke him gently. His own erection twitched with interest when Cyrus thrust into his touch, unrepentant in his desire for more, and Therion pulled his hand away with a smirk, swiping his thumb against the head as he went. “None of that _darling_ , I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

He liked that Cyrus couldn’t touch him like this, that he couldn’t talk to him and kiss him until he was distracted, but he _loved_ how quick he was to settle down against the seat, obediently waiting for Therion to please him. It was a level of trust Therion—for good reason—never thought would be bestowed upon him. And yet, here he was, sitting in the lap of someone he’d gagged and tied to a chair entirely for mutual pleasure, his ‘victim’ breathing heavily into his gag. How things changed. 

His teeth scraped along Cyrus’ jawline, lips working their way back up to his ear—Cyrus already tense again, holding his breath as Therion breathed out his own, watching the hairs on his arms raise. “If your leg wasn’t so comfortable… I’d be down on my knees _as we speak_ , using my mouth on you,” Cyrus groaned, cock twitching against his stomach. “I’d cover the shaft with kisses, just the way you like.” 

He paused in his speech to spit in his hand, taking Cyrus into his hand again. It eased the friction of his movements, picking up a long, slow rhythm. “I’d suck on the head, stroke the rest with my hands. You’re a real mouthful Cyrus, it takes a lot of effort to do even that. But I _love_ it,” he cooed, flicking his wrist with his next slow stroke, and Cyrus _whimpered_ , his thighs straining against the urge to buck. “The weight on my tongue, hearing you beg my name, watching you try not to thrust. It’s a shame, I always wish you would. Always so gentle, composed. I’d like to see you feral with need.”

“It’s funny,” he nuzzled his face against Cyrus, deft fingers tapping patterns against the sensitive tip of his cock, watching his hips jerk minutely with each one, spelling out aimless thieves’ cant into his skin. “You’re so _fussy_ about cleanliness. And yet, you seem to love my face best when it’s filthy with your spend,” he hummed with amusement as Cyrus groaned his name, muffled but still easily perceptible. “I’d take off that blindfold so you could see it, don’t worry.” 

Granting himself some small reprieve, Therion’s rubbed his free hand at his groin, moaning into Cyrus’ ear as he did, “or perhaps you’d have me swallow. Do you like it, having me full of you, watching me clean you with the same mouth that made the mess?” His hand halted, patient for an answer. When Cyrus began to nod frantically he laughed, resuming his movements. “I’d ride you after. Slow, deep. You’d want to thrust, but with you all tied up…” He sighed, leaning back against Cyrus, rubbing himself in time with his hand on his love.

“Well, I suppose you could always try and fuck me anyway.” Even blindfolded and tied up, the desperate orgasm-ready expression on Cyrus’ face was obvious. His nose scrunched up and his jaw slackened—like he was about to sneeze—and his skin warmed, magic and blood rising to the surface in tandem. It was like cuddling up to a furnace, Therion stroking him with unwavering slowness as Cyrus panted through his gag, his hands gripping the chair for dear life.

Therion pulled his hand away, prompting a whine. Then he stood up and walked to the doorway, and with the realisation of what had happened the sound shifted into something darker.

He bit down a smile when he heard the sound of rustling fabric, and a familiar voice—dangerously low, shaking with pent-up desire. “Therion.”


	2. Chapter 2

Therion ran. 

He didn’t need to run, he didn’t even _want_ to run from whatever was sure to follow his capture, but in the heat of the moment—Cyrus descending on him like a wild animal set to pounce, his voice threatening enough to send shivers down Therion’s spine—he had felt the primal urge to flee, and had followed it without thought.

His feet carried him down the hallway, heartbeat pounding in his ears, a smile spread wide across his face. He didn’t miss a life on the run, but the act of being chased still gave him a heady rush, even if the context was much less dire. It had never occurred to him that the scholar would catch up until Therion wanted him to, his speed was just higher—a tried and true fact. But even distracted by his own arousal, Cyrus was still crafty, enough so that Therion was only startled for a moment when fabric wrapped around his wrists from behind, grinding his forward momentum to a sudden, stumbling halt.

Cyrus approached a moment later, grabbing hold of Therion’s scarf, the shimmering veil of a hasty enchantment already fading from the fabric. “You left your scarf, dear. I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

A normally sweet sentiment, Cyrus breathed the words out hot and low like the embers of a fire, reigniting the flame in Therion’s core. That flame only blazed brighter when Cyrus gripped the scarf and pulled him close, only to push him roughly against a nearby pier table. His touch was bruising, pleasantly rough, and Therion was quick to give in and let himself be manhandled. 

“What’re you going do now that you’ve caught me?”

Cyrus ruminated for a moment, one hand capturing both of Therion’s wrists. “You said something about having me feral with desire, did you not?” His lips were at Therion’s neck so suddenly he jumped, and then jumped again when Cyrus bit down on tender flesh, mirroring the mark Therion had given him earlier. So distracted by his mouth, Therion barely noticed Cyrus’ hands moving until he tried to shift his arms, only to find them tied tight against his back. 

He strained against the binds, but made no move to release himself even when he found the end of the knot. It was for the spectacle of it anyway, Cyrus’ eyes searing on his skin, his touch just as hot when he used Therion’s trapped arms to force him up, pulled into a tight arc as his hips jerked backwards. He could feel how hard Cyrus still was, clothed once more as he ground against his ass. He stopped only long enough to shove Therion’s pants down to his knees.

For all his eagerness to chase Therion down just a moment ago, he couldn’t help but feel like Cyrus was toying with him on purpose, playing with his prey rather than give in to his frustrations the way Therion wanted. His hands roamed his bare thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh to feel the firm muscle underneath, even as he forced them apart. It threw Therion off his balance, a shudder wracking his form as he sank to the table, cheek pressing to cool wood. 

“ _Please,_ ” he muttered, Cyrus’ touch roaming to his ass, squeezing indulgently. He contemplated Therion’s words for a moment, and then brought his hand down with a firm smack, a moan tearing from Therion as his ass stung from the sudden hit.

One of Cyrus’ hands moved from his skin, stretched somewhere Therion couldn’t see with his face still pressed to the wood. He focused on that, failing to notice Cyrus shift until his breath ghosted across Therion’s ear, lips just barely brushing his skin. “Please what, Therion? You’ve got so few words now, but I seem to remember quite the mouth on you earlier.” 

His fingers appeared again suddenly, slick and hot when they brushed Therion’s balls, his taint, and pressed lightly at his asshole. Therion bit his lip, rolling his hips impatiently, and Cyrus pressed one in with ease.

“Please,” he repeated, all other words gone from his mind. Cyrus chuckled, the sound just on the edge of mocking, but asked nothing more of Therion as his finger curled insistently at his hot insides, rubbing at his prostate until his knees began to tremble. He didn’t truly need to put words to the extent of his want, not when he moans freely for Cyrus, struggling to catch his breath in the wake of his unrelenting attentions. 

A second slick finger joins the first, nearly dripping with oil. Therion’s breath wavers on his next exhale, his face hot as Cyrus teases them both at his rim, forcing his muscles to hold the stretch. “I’ve no doubt I can pull you apart by your fingers alone.” Therion nods hard, and Cyrus’ fingers press into him properly, the slick sounds of him fucking Therion open enough to make him flush to the tips of his ears. 

For all his gentle thoroughness, there’s a rough edge to it. Cyrus forces Therion to accommodate his movements, drawing on whatever deep well of knowledge he’s gleaned of Therion’s body rather than ask if he’s alright. It’s relief as much as it is torment, the pleasure of not having to give voice to his desires turned sharp with the understanding that he in turn has no control over how Cyrus will give them to him. 

Teeth nip at his shoulder with the press of a third finger, filling him enough to barely scratch that itch deep in his gut as they curl inwards, stroking over his insides until he’s clenching down on them. He struggles to focus on both sensations at once, hands tugging at his binds again, instinct telling him to touch Cyrus in response, to ground the energy thrumming under his skin. He’s filled to the brim with emotion and building need like being too full of magic, the weight of it heavy in his veins. Then Cyrus bites him properly, and Therion goes limp and blissfully still, submitting to him with a low whine. 

The hand not busied with teasing Therion open slips down, fingers dancing along the shaft of his cock. He’d nearly forgotten how achingly hard he was, but now his focus returns, breath hitching as Cyrus grips him properly and strokes him in time with the slow spread of his fingers. His back arches, hips rolling forwards, and Cyrus lets him as he kisses the marks his teeth left, multitasking effortlessly. 

He fucks into his hand while Cyrus stretches him until heat knots in his gut and his breathing becomes genuinely strained, heartbeat in his throat. He thinks briefly that Cyrus might let him come like this, making good on his earlier comment. That he’d fuck him after, while he’s still winding down from his first orgasm. But he pulls his fingers away a moment later, and Therion can’t stop the desperate cry of his name, a sharp “Cyrus!” falling from his lips as his hips grind forward into empty air. He has to crane his neck to see his face, but when he does Cyrus meets his gaze, eyes bright with intensity. 

“Therion,” comes the soft reply, Cyrus smiling warmly at him. It turns wicked a moment later, his cock grinding slow against the curve of Therion’s ass. “I’ve half a mind to leave you like this. It’d be a fair revenge, would it not?” Therion opens his mouth to protest, his mind reeling from the rapid change of pace, but Cyrus keeps talking, his voice slow and collected. “But no, that’s not right, is it? It’s not enough that I’ve denied you once,” Therion shivers, hips bucking at the reminder of Cyrus’ warm hand wrapped around him, “your torment was unprecedented. This was expected. But if I were to do it again? Perhaps, if I were to take my fill of you and leave you unsatisfied, my spend leaking from you? That would be a more appropriate revenge.”

Therion’s eyes go wide as the implication sinks in, and Cyrus takes advantage of his surprise, holding him steady as he presses the tip of his cock slowly into him. It’s overwhelming, his brain in overdrive as his body melts into Cyrus’ touch, and he’s sure it’s on purpose. It must be, with how pleased Cyrus sounds as he moans into Therion’s ear, nosing affectionately at him. Relentless psychological torment, and his cock twitches with apt approval at the thought of more. 

Cyrus stills when he bottoms out, grinding his hips to press just that little bit deeper. Therion’s stomach flips at the pleasant fullness, his breathing heavy. He exhales as Cyrus pulls back, clenching hard. It’s anticipation essentialized, his toes curling as he waits, resisting the urge to roll his hips back and disturb the tension. 

Cyrus thrusts in hard, dragging Therion back onto his cock by his hips, and Therion cries his name without hesitation. It’s unrelenting, the way he forces Therion to meet him halfway, push pulling him across the smooth wood as he builds a fast rhythm. With no hands to brace himself, Therion can only take it, choking on his moans whenever Cyrus grinds in deep. 

He’d wanted it rough and hard, wanted it _feral_ , and he feels wild as Cyrus claims him, hot breath in his ear and hands bruising in their grip. He’ll have Cyrus’ fingerprints branded into his skin tomorrow, private reminders to carry through his day. 

Cyrus raises his hips, forcing him to stand on his toes if he wants to stand at all, and the next hard thrust grinds his cock against Therion’s prostate, his mouth falling open in a wordless moan. “Ah, gods—I suppose you, mmm, like that,” his voice husky and close to Therion’s ear. 

“Feels—feels good,” Therion stutters out, gasping for breath with every thrust. “F-Full, full of you, _yours_ ,” he adds, the words falling from his mouth as he exhales, Cyrus pushing them from him when he drags him close. His hips stutter in their movement when the words process, picking up an even more frantic pace. 

His gut clenches, cock bobbing uselessly between his legs, dribbling pre onto the floor with each hard thrust. Therion whines and groans and tugs at his binds again, and he knows that he’s already close, that he can finish like this, with Cyrus’ breath hot in his ear, kissing him intermittently, his hands firm and his movements hard and deep the way Therion likes it. 

Cyrus is close too, the meticulous pace he’d set faltering like an imperfect orchestra, that metronome steady rhythm lost. He whispers to Therion like this, the sound rough with use and arousal, murmuring absurd praise. Even now, when he should be putting Therion in his place he rains down affection. “Divine, ethereal—” he cuts himself off with a groan, swallowing hard, “I’m close, _gods_ Therion, you’re perfect.” His voice curls into a whine, and Therion responds in kind, body alight with sensation.

“Please—” he hears himself beg, his breath so hot it fogs up the wood by his face. “Cyrus, _please_ ,” he doesn’t know what he’s asking for anymore, if he wants Cyrus to finish or if he’s just begging desperately for him to not leave, to not make good on his cruel promises. It doesn’t matter either way, not when Cyrus drags him back onto his cock, Therion’s name on his lips as he comes. 

Desperate as he already is, Therion almost manages to get off on that alone. He grinds back against Cyrus, trying to get just that last bit of stimulation to push himself over the edge, his hands tugging hard at the scarf binding them. He hears himself whining, high and needy, frustrated that he can’t move much like this. If he could just get one hand free, then—

It doesn’t matter, because Cyrus’ hand slides smoothly between his legs, his lips on Therion’s exposed cheek as he pumps him slow and steady, his hips rolling lazily into him as he comes down from his orgasm. Therion’s eyes shoot open, but close just as quickly, a warbling moan leaving him as Cyrus brings him to orgasm with stunning, easy efficiency. 

By the time he stops seeing only white, Cyrus’ hand has stopped stroking him. He’s still rolling his hips just barely, cherishing the last moments of their intimacy, the movement just barely on the good side of overstimulation. 

“Cyrus,” Therion rasps, voice hoarse from use. Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, Cyrus pulls out with little fanfare, collecting Therion in his arms. 

“The floor is filthy,” he mutters, and Therion laughs, letting himself be manhandled so Cyrus can wipe him off and untie his wrists, kissing each one reverently. It’s quiet for a moment, Cyrus studying Therion. Finally, he seems to find what was on his mind. “Before, did you truly think I’d leave you unsatisfied?” 

He doesn’t sound upset. Just curious, and perhaps a little teasing. Therion shrugs, rolling his wrists to ease some of their soreness. “Don’t sound so self-satisfied. I only thought you might be mad I wound you up so much before. And maybe a little mad I barely took advantage of having you at my mercy.” 

“It’s hard to be upset when I’ve got you ass up and begging for me.” Cyrus replied dryly, taking Therion’s wrists in hand once more to massage gently. “Regardless, there’s always next time.”

Therion rolled his eyes, laughing as he tucked himself close to Cyrus’ chest. “I’ll use a stronger knot next time if you test me, one you can’t get out of alone.”

Cyrus gasped, “you wouldn’t!” 

“I’m a master thief,” Therion replied, detangling his wrists altogether to drape his arms over Cyrus’ shoulders to lean in, “what if this is all an elaborate ruse to tie you up and rob you blind?”

Cyrus was smiling when he kissed him, his nose all scrunched up with mock indignation, and Therion found he couldn’t keep the smile off his face either.

**Author's Note:**

> cyrus voice: i am going to give you rabies
> 
> evidentally "eventually" meant three months. anyway hi! i merged my two ao3 accounts so now here we are  
> also if you like this fic and you like cytheri definitely come join the [cytheri discord](https://discord.gg/vudxtNs)! feel free to request smth i always want new ideas :')


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